Conflicts in Propinquity
by StarCollector88
Summary: This story takes place in the TV show universe. The events are not based on real life occurrences just an interpretation of how the show characters would react in these situations. There are some real-life references added that are not historically accurate just a way to add more depth to the story.
1. Chapter 1

**Micky**

Now he had done it. Micky was sure that this could not have possibly gone worse. Peter was fuming. And since Peter was all peace and love, it went without saying that it took quite a bit to take him over the edge.

"Micky what the hell were you thinking?" Peter shouted.

"It was all for the good of the business," Micky tried to explain. "I didn't think you'd mind…"

"Why wouldn't I mind my piano missing more than half its keys!?" Peter seemed to be getting louder by the second.

It was true. Micky had gotten a 'brilliant idea' for his next business venture. Micky had been hanging around a toy store checking out the new items when he noticed a highly trafficked section of the store. He pushed his way through the throngs of kids and saw what all the excitement was about. There were huge model train sets and villages arranged around the massive models. Micky watched as many parents bought those train sets.

"Because the brilliant idea is foolproof!" Micky said defensively. "I needed the keys to create train tracks for the model trains that I started making out of Davy's tambourines. I call the brand 'Last Train to Clarksville'."

Peter's body tensed up in anger. His eyes narrowed and his face became beet red. Peter crossed his arms and looked as though he was trying to think about his next move before doing something that he would regret. Micky noticed Peter's hostile body language and worked towards smoothing things over.

"I can see you're annoyed and I totally get that," Micky said putting his hands up in surrender. "But consider the fact that we are going to be rich off this scheme and we can buy you a newer, fancier piano!"

Micky looked on with an innocent facial expression, one that was portraying the message of 'how could you be mad at this face?'. He waited in silence. There was nothing left to say or do. He had thoroughly described the plan and the piano was already broken apart seemingly beyond repair. Peter had to forgive him. What other options were there?

Peter remained motionless for what felt like a half an hour but in reality wasn't even a minute before he spoke.

"Rich? Off one of _your_ brilliant ideas?" Peter scoffed. "When was the last time one of your ideas caused us anything but annoyance or a headache?"

 _Ouch_. Micky had not expected that Peter would snap back like that. Because as far as Micky knew he had never actually seen Peter experience anything more than being a tad miffed. Peter was so easygoing and forgiving that Micky figured he could just do as he pleased without much thought.

"Okay, I see you aren't completely on board…Ha! Get it trains, on board!"

Peter was not laughing.

"Okay, tough crowd. I think you're completely missing the point here, Pete."

"No Micky, you're missing the point! You take advantage of everyone around you. And I don't always think you mean to do that, part of it seems to be inconsideration. Usually everyone overlooks it and says 'Oh that's just Micky. He's eccentric'," Peter continued sarcastically. "This time you've gone too far!"

Micky's mouth dropped. He was flabbergasted. He couldn't believe that Peter would say such hurtful things to him. Where was his usual tranquil manner?

"Wow Peter I can't believe you're being so selfish," Micky blurted out without thinking.

"You're the selfish one!" Peter yelled. "When are you ever going to grow out of this self-centered phase?"

Micky balled up his fists and clenched his jaw. "I don't need to take this. I'm out of here. I'll take my idea and make it big, you'll see. Then you'll be sorry that you ever doubted or insulted me!"

Micky stomped up the spiral staircase and slammed the bedroom door behind him. He began sorting through the chaos that was his side of the room in order to gather items that he would need to be out on his own. If everyone felt that he was annoying and inconsiderate, then who needed those three? He could make it on his own without anyone else. After all, he was the brains of the operation. More money and fame for him.

* * *

"What in the world is going on in here?" Mike asked coming inside from the back porch.

Peter was still wound up from the fight with Micky. He turned around to face the confused Mike and was still shouting. "I'm tired of Micky's impulsivity and lack of remorse."

Mike backed away slightly at the outburst. "Whoa, whoa, Shotgun. What are you talking…"

Mike was interrupted by the sound of stomping and slamming upstairs. Both men looked up towards the ceiling. Mike scratched his wool hat in bewilderment. "Again I ask, what is going on?"

Peter didn't respond verbally and just nodded towards what was left of his piano. Mike examined the damage to the piano and found the discarded keys nearby forming a makeshift train track.

"So from what I see here," Mike assessed, "Micky had a brilliant idea which involved demolishing you're piano and apparently a few tambourines."

"He just has no respect for other people and their belongings," Peter said irritably.

"I bet he had the best intentions though. You know him. He gets an idea in his head, it's like he can't help himself."

"Well, he needs to learn some restraint."

"Did you tell him that?"

Peter looked down and rethought the conversation that had previously transpired. "In not so many words."

"From that answer, I'm taking it that your anger got the best of you and you may have said some things that were hurtful."

Peter contemplated that perception. Why did Mike have to be so knowledgeable? Peter wasn't ready yet to forgive and forget so easily.

"Alright, I see that you have some things to think about. Just do me a favor and don't give up on friendship so fast," Mike said as he squeezed Peter's shoulder and went back outside.

* * *

Peter had given himself an hour to cool down. Of course he was going to forgive Micky. It wasn't like Peter to hold grudges, especially for someone he cared about so dearly. But to prove a point, he had to let Micky sweat it out. Although, Peter was becoming a tad concerned about Micky leaving. He didn't truly believe that Micky would seriously leave, however all the noise from upstairs had subsided a half hour ago. Had he packed up and snuck out the upstairs window?

Peter shot up and rushed towards the closed door to make sure Micky was still there. He knocked lightly on the door and listened. He heard a very slight movement and took that as a sign that the room was still occupied.

"Hey, Micky? Can I come in?"

There was no response from inside the room.

"I get it you're still offended and perhaps angry. Listen I'm sorry that I lost my temper earlier. Davy's attitude must be rubbing off on me," Peter attempted to joke.

Still no response.

"Okay, I didn't mean those things I said. I think your brilliant ideas are creative. I just would like it if you would not act so quickly on them and ask before you touch things that aren't yours. You know? I think things will be better for everyone. What do you say?"

There was still no answer. It made Peter think that the movement he had heard before was not Micky. He decided to go into the room and see for himself. Peter entered the room and noticed that Micky's usual messy room looked even more like a hurricane had hit it. He glanced over at Micky's bed and saw that the drummer had fallen asleep with a screwdriver in one hand and a radio in the other. There was a duffel bag on the floor next to the bed with one shirt in it. Apparently, Micky had begun packing to leave and had gotten sidetracked with another project.

Peter smiled to himself. He tiptoed out of the room and quietly closed the door. He should have known Micky wasn't going to leave; he didn't have the attention span for it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Peter**

 _Slam!_

"What the bloody hell?" came yelling from inside Peter and Davy's shared room.

That yelling was soon accompanied by an angry Brit huffing out of said room.

"Tork, have you seen the cufflinks that my grandfather gave me? I need them for my date tonight," Davy questioned impatiently.

"What do they look like?" Peter asked not remembering if he had ever seen them before.

Davy glared at Peter with a look of petulance. "You've seen them before! They are silver with green stones in them."

Peter searched his mind for any recollection of the cufflinks at all. He could feel Davy's eyes burning a hole into him. Peter had absolutely no idea what he was talking about and was afraid to even say that right away. Davy had a terrible temper and Peter did not want to be on the receiving end of that wrath. But there was no other answer except…

"I'm sorry, Davy, I haven't seen them. I don't think I've actually ever seen them before."

Peter braced himself for the storm that was about to hit. He had no idea why Davy was at the level of anger he was at the moment. Had something already happened to set him off? Did Peter do something else he wasn't aware of? Why was he asking Peter in the first place since clearly he had misplaced his own cufflinks? None of those questions mattered much at the moment. The thing that mattered was that Davy was squaring his jaw and getting ready to begin his tirade.

"What do you mean you've never seen them before? I've had them for ages. And they sit on top of my dresser always in a box. I didn't move them and you're the only other person in there."

Peter was beginning to feel hurt. Davy was blaming him of taking something. Peter would never do that. It was completely out of character for him and it was upsetting that Davy would make such an accusation.

"I would never intentionally take anything of yours. I would hope that you knew that," Peter was starting to become his own brand of irritable.

"Oh no, I'm not suggesting that you intentionally did something. I'm saying that you absentmindedly move things around all the time. I find my things in the oddest places because you decided to 'Feng Shui' the room," Davy used very tense air quotes to emphasize his point. "Or let's not forget the fact that you're extremely clumsy and knock things over constantly. It's a wonder more items don't go missing in this place!"

That particular part of the rant stung. It made Peter feel like he was an unrefined person; that Davy viewed him as this blundering oaf. Sure, Peter had to admit that he had his fair share of stumbles. And yes, he did move things around a time or two, but he never went so far as to take things out of drawers or anything.

"Look, I get it. You're mad that you can't find something that you need at the moment. But, taking it out on me is not going to make you find it any faster. And it isn't my fault that you've lost those cufflinks."

Davy waved his hands in front of him to gesture how much he disagreed with that statement. "Oh no, you've got it all wrong. I'm mad that I have to share the same space as someone who can't pull themselves together and I have to suffer for it. Tomorrow things are going to change. I can't live with you anymore."

Davy stomped back into the room and was back to slamming drawers as he was previously. Peter sat dumbfounded at what had just unfolded. He was unsure what Davy meant by 'things are going to change.' One thing was for sure though, Peter knew when he wasn't wanted and he wasn't going to stick around to find out what Davy had in mind.

* * *

Peter was busy shoving any belongings that made sense to take into a large duffel bag. He had lived a vagrant lifestyle when he had first come to California from Connecticut. Sure it was a tough way to go about life, scavenging for food and shelter. But, Peter had always gotten by and this argument with Davy was clearly the last straw in a string of unfortunate incidents that he had encountered with his roommates recently.

There was the time a few weeks ago when Micky demolished Peter's piano for some stupid idea. And of course, Mike was quick to take Micky's side and suggest that Peter forgive and forget. The piano was still under construction and would likely never be finished since Micky had the attention span of a gnat.

Then there was Mike always hassling him about everything. If it wasn't practicing for gigs or the quality of playing, it was badgering Peter about chores and finding odd jobs. Seemed as though Mike didn't pressure anyone else to find jobs as much he did to Peter. When there was the position at the toy factory, Mike and immediately proposed the idea that Peter would be the one to apply. And although the four of them had jobs together at times like the answering service, Peter felt like he took the brunt of the workload since everyone else shirked responsibility to get involved in the clients personal lives.

Who needed this life? He only stayed to be in the band, but honestly the band wasn't going anywhere fast. Peter could find another band with people who appreciated him instead of accused him, nagged him, or destroyed his belongings. He hefted the duffel bag onto his shoulder and headed towards the front door. He stared at the eccentrically decorated bungalow with a mixture of melancholy and frustration.

"Goodbye; my fair-weathered friends."

* * *

Peter shivered under the dock on the beach. He been gone for two days and hadn't had any luck securing anything at all; food, shelter, or a job. He knew that things took time, but he remembered from past experience that he at least had some sort of luck. He had just been wandering the streets absently, looking at fliers when he saw them or searching through his old haunts for leftovers. But there was nothing, unless Peter was qualified to be a bilingual secretary or a farmhand (he had tried that already).

He was regretting his decision to leave and thought that he may have acted too hastily. Peter wasn't one to let impulse take over him like Micky did. He began to wonder why he did leave without giving things a second thought and for something so seemingly trivial. What it boiled down to was that Peter didn't feel respected by anyone. He felt as though everyone just saw him as the goof, the screw up, the punching bag, the doormat. Was that really something to run away from though? Because now that Peter considered this, he hadn't done anything to make things different for himself. He was letting his roommates take advantage of him and because of his good-natured attitude he would just take it. But someone can only take so much mistreatment before they snap.

This was clearly Peter's snap. It could have been handled differently however. He could have voiced concerns right away instead of bottling them up. And even when he did voice concerns he could have stuck to his guns more. Peter realized that he was partially at fault here. You can't change other peoples' actions and reactions, but you can change your own. Things were going to change alright.

Peter stood up and brushed the sand off his clothes. He looked off into the distance and saw an all too familiar beach house. He had to admit that he missed the home and the people in it. He headed in that direction not exactly sure what he was going to say to get back into the house and band. It had been two days; surely they had found a replacement already.

When he reached the front door, he still hadn't thought of the right words to say. Peter put his back against the brick wall and slid down into a sitting position. What was the best approach? Begging? Acting like nothing happened? Waltzing in and making demands right off the bat? None of this seemed right. Plus, there was no way of knowing how everyone else would react to his sudden reappearance. So Peter knocked on the door and waited in anticipation.

Micky answered the door eating an apple and looked at Peter questioningly. "Hey Pete, did you forget your keys or something?"

Peter stared at Micky. Clearly the drummer was oblivious to the fact that Peter had been gone at all. Without even waiting for Peter to answer that question he walked away. Peter was not prepared for the nonchalant response and poked his head inside to see if it was alright for him to walk in. Mike was reading the newspaper at the table and lowered it to look at Peter curiously.

"Are you going to come in here? Jesus, what happened to you? You look like a bum off the street?"

If Mike had noticed Peter was gone, which Peter was positive he did, he didn't say anything about it. And if no one else was going to acknowledge Peter's absence then neither was he. Without answering Mike's question, Peter walked through the door and closed it behind him. Mike went back to reading his paper, obviously not in the mood to continue on with this tedious exchange. Peter made his way towards his shared room, hoping that Davy hadn't turned it into a single room.

Peter opened the door and saw Davy sitting on his bed doing nothing in particular. When Peter walked in Davy's gaze immediately fixated on him. Peter closed the door as he was sure by that look that his absence had not been lost on Davy. He set down his duffel bag on the floor next to his bed and matched the stare coming from the bed across the way.

"Hey," Peter started.

"Where have you been?"

Peter sighed it was difficult to answer that question because he had been nowhere and everywhere all at once. "I really don't think that that's important."

Davy nodded. "Then why have you been gone?"

"I reached my breaking point. After our argument a few days ago, I thought about everything. I have been unhappy with my relationships here and figured that it would be best if I just moved on."

Davy looked on silently.

"Then I came to a realization today. If I am unhappy with the way things are going I need to say something instead of just letting it build up inside of me," Peter continued. "And well, life here isn't perfect but it is home."

Davy waited to make sure Peter had finished his statement. "Peter, I am very sorry for the way that I acted the other night. You did not deserve to be berated by me for something that wasn't even your fault; seeing as Micky had taken my cufflinks for some ridiculous 'brilliant idea.' I felt so guilty when I came home and you weren't here. I blamed myself for everything. I actually walked around both days looking for you, but figured you didn't want to be found."

Peter was shocked. He never would have guessed that Davy was going to apologize or even that he was concerned enough to look for Peter. Especially since Mike and Micky didn't seem to recognize anything was amiss. He felt an emotional response swell inside him; gratitude and embarrassment for the assumptions he had made.

"I was an idiot and acted too rashly when I noticed the cufflinks missing and I insulted you which was out of line," Davy finished.

"No, no I'm the idiot. I actually left because of it."

"Yeah, because of my idiotic ranting and raving."

"You're an idiot. I'm an idiot. We're co-presidents of Club Idiot," Peter chuckled.

"I guess we are," Davy shot back a smile.

Yeah things were definitely going to change around here for the better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Davy**

"Nice to see you."

Davy was startled by the voice as he was attempting to quietly close the front door as not to wake up anyone else. Apparently, that wasn't going to be an issue anyway, seeing as Mike was sitting in a chair across from the front door as though he was waiting for Davy's arrival.

"Don't do that!" Davy exclaimed. "What are you doing anyway?"

"Oh you know, just thought the door was so lovely that it's a shame we don't appreciate it more," Mike answered sarcastically.

"Charming. No, I'm aware of what you're doing. I guess I should rephrase this. _Why_ are you waiting up for me? Last time I checked you're not my father."

Davy could tell not just by Mike's remarks and actions that the older man was infuriated, but also from his body language and appearance. Mike was sitting up straight as a board in the chair with his arms clasped tightly folded. Mike's eyes were narrowed and Davy could tell that his teeth were clenched under his emotionless lips. He was still wearing his regular clothes even though it was well past one in the morning. Davy was starting to get the vibe that what he had said was not in his best interest.

"I'm well aware of who I am to you," Mike spat. "I'm your bandmate. You know _the band_. The one that had a gig tonight at the Silver Bullet…"

Davy froze from the subtle movements he had been making. They had a job tonight! He had forgotten. He had had a date with a girl named Janet the previous afternoon. One thing had led to another and the pair ended spending the entire day together. Davy had not even had the chance to be home for someone to remind him of the gig. His mind frantically searched for the appropriate way to approach this situation. Apologize profusely, even though Mike was still going to give him the third degree. Act aloof, which would ultimately set Mike off even more. Match Mike's anger, which would have terrible results for all involved. Honestly, there was no winning.

"Truthfully Mike, I forgot we even had a job tonight."

"Well I assumed that since no one would miss out at a chance at money purposefully," Mike kept up with his negative attitude. "What I was curious about was what was so damn important that you've been gone more than half the day with no opportunity for anyone to get a hold of you?"

Was this a trick question? A set up? It didn't really matter because the question had to be answered.

"I was on a date."

"Well big shocker there!" Mike said exaggeratedly.

"You know, this approach to the situation is unwarranted. It's not like I did this on purpose or maybe I should have been reminded yesterday and I would have been prepared."

"Maybe you wouldn't need reminders if your head wasn't always in the clouds lusting after your next flavor of the week. Hell maybe if you'd actually lay off the girls for an extended amount of time you could possibly gain a little bit more talent."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Davy's mood shifted. He was already not keen on Mike's attitude, but he had been able to keep a level head and see things from the other perspective. Now though the gloves were off. He was livid. How dare Mike attack his musical abilities? He was every bit an important part of the act as anyone else.

"It means that if you spent half as much time honing your craft instead of chasing around everything in a skirt then maybe you'd play more than just these little nothing instruments. Or write a song or two instead of riding everyone else's coat tails because you're 'the cute one'."

Davy clenched his jaw and fists. Mike had done it now. Davy was known for his temper and Mike was creating the right concoction to get to get a dose of some British fire.

"Take that back."

"No, I won't," Mike deadpanned. "In fact, we did the gig without you and it was like we didn't even need you. Sure we had to skip over doing your lead songs and add in others we don't play often, but that was it. We can move around you."

Davy had had enough. He lunged towards Mike and both men were on the ground rolling around and pummeling each other. The scuffle must have woke up Peter who was now attempting to pry the two apart. In the chaos of the situation, Davy swung towards Mike and ended up with his fist colliding with Peter's jaw. The misstep caused all three to pause. Peter touched his face and immediately ran into the bathroom with tears streaming down his face. Everything happened so fast that it seemed like in was over in the blink of an eye.

Mike untangled himself from the still stunned Davy. He looked haggard with a few cuts on his face. He stood and spat out some blood onto the floor, before turning to make his way to the bathroom as well.

"You know I'd watch my step if I were you. You are replaceable."

With that Mike left Davy alone on the floor with the sting of his wounds and those words still fresh.

* * *

Davy was lying awake on the couch with his eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. There was no way he was sleeping in his room with Peter after he had clocked him. The very brief course of events from the time he had gotten home were still attacking his mind. He had gone from a wonderful date to a war zone in a matter of seconds. Sure, he knew that his reaction towards Mike wasn't the most appropriate, but how dare that hillbilly make those kinds of accusations! He had not purposefully done anything to jeopardize the band's integrity.

And what was all this talk about Davy being replaced? There was no way that Mike would throw away that band chemistry or a friendship for that matter. Or would he? As much as Mike appeared to care for his friends, there was that underlying notion that Mike cared more for success and would do anything to ensure that _he_ would achieve his endeavors. No matter who that happened to be with.

Davy wrestled with the mixture of emotions flooding his mind. Anxiety of what would happen with Mike in the morning. Anger at Mike for causing this whole debacle in the first place and at himself for missing the gig. Sadness and guilt over what he had done to Peter who was only trying to help. It seemed like it was no one's fault and everyone's fault at the same time. A perfect storm of emotion and action that threatened to strike lightning upon anyone involved. There would be a hell of a recovery for the survivors.

Continuing to think about this event wasn't helping in the slightest. All it was doing was exacerbating what was already there. Davy's anxiety took a left turn and decided thinking about the future was a much better option. What was he going to do tomorrow? Obviously apologize profusely to Peter; he would be more apt to forgive and move on. But what about Mike? They were far beyond the point of apologizing and if Davy really knew Mike he was one to hold a grudge for as long as he could. That was something to look forward to…the silent treatment. And not just any silent treatment, one where Mike would make it blatantly obvious that he was avoiding Davy by having full on conversations with Peter and Micky right in front of him.

The answer seemed so clear. There was only one option that was going to make things tolerable for Davy…

"What are you doing?" Micky asked with confusion the next morning.

Davy stood with bags in hand at the front door. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

The drummer mulled the sarcastic question over in his head. "Going door to door selling luggage? Going to England? Preparing the fallout shelter for the apocalypse?"

"Okay only one of those guesses made any sense, even though they're all wrong."

"Yeah I know; that apocalypse will sneak up on you if you're not careful."

Davy gave Micky an irritated look. "I'm not sure if I'm going to miss that when I move out."

"Move out!?"

"Yeah, I've had it up to here with Mike's rules, insults, and just general attitude." Davy said gesturing right above his head.

"Well, that's not a very high tolerance level, may you need to have it up to my height," Micky quipped.

"Nope, definitely not going to miss that."

"Hold on, hold on. All kidding aside are you serious?"

"I couldn't be more serious. I made up my mind last night. I'm going to stay with some girls that I've met over the years. I'm going to work on getting out there as a solo act or maybe some acting stuff. I'm not sure where I'm headed exactly, but I do know I can't take being here anymore."

"What are you going to do without you?" Micky asked pleadingly.

There was the sound of footsteps on the staircase. Davy looked up and saw Mike was paused midway down the stairs, looking on at the departure scene before him.

Davy turned back to Micky and made sure he said the statement loud enough for Mike to hear. "Don't worry, Mate. I'm replaceable."

With that said he hefted his bags onto his shoulders and slammed the door of the Pad.

* * *

 _One year later…_

Davy sighed in the mirror as he struggled to tie that stubborn necktie for the third time. Why did neckties have to be so difficult? Although he knew it wasn't the necktie, it was the collection of nerves that he had swelling inside his body. This would be the first time he had seen his former bandmates since he walked out the door last year. It had been a crazy year for everyone and tonight's events would be proof of that.

After Davy left the Pad, he was staying with some of his former flames who were thrilled to have Davy around to look at. He worked hard pounding the pavement looking for opportunities to break out on his own to become a famous success. Even though The Monkees had put in a valiant effort for success, it always to him seemed to be more about the love and passion for the music rather than the accolades. But that's all Davy sought out these days was the fame and fortune of being the hot commodity that was David Jones.

He had auditioned for everything available, hoping that one thing would be the big break he was looking for. He took parts in small plays here and there that were usually shut down after a few shows due to lack of attendance. But those minuscule performances got him what he was searching for, exposure. Eventually, bigger parts came rolling in for bigger productions. I mean this wasn't Broadway or anything, it was just the tiny Malibu theater district, but income was income. And the bigger the production, the bigger the payout. Ultimately, this allowed Davy to move into his own place and continue to work steadily which was not a concept he had been accustomed to.

Now, here he was dressing up for the awards ceremony. It wasn't the Oscars, the Tonys, or even the Grammys. It was just the Malibu Recognition in Performing Arts Awards. The ceremony was so small that it was just in a small banquet hall that was next to the bowling alley. Still, recognition was good exposure and paved the way for more career advancement. And guess who also happened to have a stellar year of performing? Apparently, losing Davy was just the thing that the newly developed trio needed to lift them out of their career slump. No longer were The Monkees playing in dives, they were actually selling out smaller venue performances to a pretty substantial fan base. This was thanks in part to a music producer that happened to catch them playing one night and offered to let them record an album. The album had been steadily selling copies since its release and Davy had to admit that he had a copy.

Fourth time was the charm and Davy nearly choked himself with the too tight necktie. Would the guys even approach him to talk? Should he approach them? If any of them started a conversation what would they even talk about? His head was swimming with the possibilities and there was absolutely no way of knowing the outcome. He loosened the tie and grabbed his trademark burgundy suit jacket. This was of course going to be interesting.

* * *

Davy looked at the place card table and noted that Mike, Micky, and Peter had still not arrived. There was no doubt that this had nothing to do with being fashionably late and everything to do with one of Micky's antics. Davy couldn't help but smile to himself thinking about the time Micky decided to de-stress by demolishing his and Mike's bedroom.

As Davy walked through the small dining area, he saw some familiar faces from his musical past. There at a table were the Foreign Agents and the Four Martians and at the table next to them were the Jolly Green Giants and Ellen Farnsby (someone Davy was no stranger to sharing the stage with). Davy continued looking around for table four and finally found himself seated with Lester Crabtree and Sven Jorgenson and the Swedish Rhythm Kings. Who made this seating chart anyhow?

Davy listened on as Lester regaled Sven on his stories of getting his clothes ripped off and Sven attempting to understand with his broken English. Davy set his head in his hands. This was quite a lonely existence. Not one of the scenarios he had played out in his head, but one that was all too familiar to him. Davy often felt alone living by himself and having no one to talk to or share in his happiness. Although he had to admit even with all he had, there was little happiness going on.

Suddenly he was snapped out of his thoughts by a commotion in the back of the room. It was an extremely recognizable sound and Davy had to turn his head to take it in full view. Micky had accidentally collided with a waiter carrying glasses of water; there was broken glass and ice cubes everywhere. Peter had entered afterwards and slipped on the ice and fell to the ground as well. Mike walked in with a look of embarrassment on is face as he helped his two bandmates off the floor. Davy couldn't help but feel nostalgic at the classic scene of shenanigans. He watched as The Monkees took their seats next to the Jolly Green Giants and Micky wrung out his shirt.

The awards ceremony wasn't so much about nominations and winners. It was more of a gathering of those in the performing arts to get together and appreciate each other's work in their craft. After the speeches and accolades were handed out there was quite a bit of time relegated to networking and conversing with those you already knew. Davy stood nervously near the corner. He had never been one to be a wallflower, but this night had him feeling unsure of himself. He had looked on all night as others enjoyed the company of their fellow performers and noted how much of a good time his former bandmates were having together. He was feeling pangs of longing.

Now here he was standing alone in a crowded room. It was a very surreal feeling to have the energy and excitement all around and being almost paralyzed to partake in it. It was actually hurting him to not speak to his former friends that Davy didn't want to admit he missed terribly. It was easy to forget those feelings when he wasn't around them and he thought he could handle it but it was killing him. Davy wondered if it was killing them too.

How did it end up this way? Davy kept nervously adjusting and readjusting his tie and tried to busy himself by turning the swizzle stick in his drink. He would continue to look up and sneak glances towards Mike. It seemed like the Texan was doing his best to avoid Davy. Mike had strategically faced his back towards Davy the moment he realized where the Brit was stationed. Davy knew that Mike wasn't one for emotions and figured Mike was trying to keep up his pride by ignoring someone that likely had caused some hurt feelings.

Davy suddenly became overwhelmed by the feelings on loneliness. He had to get out of there. Even though there were conversations going on all around him there was also the silence of being alone that was enveloping him. He had never heard silence that loud before. It was deafening. He set his drink glass on the table and bolted for the door, deciding to take the route that would keep him a safe distance away from Mike.

Davy was safely out of the banquet room and into the hall when he bumped into another person coming out of the bathroom. It was Peter. Peter's face surprisingly lit up when he noticed Davy.

"Davy Jones! Well I'll be! How have you been?"

Davy was struck by the sheer interest and joy that was in Peter's voice. "I'm doing well," he lied, "and yourself?"

Peter's face turned slightly. "Honestly, things have been going well professionally but personally not so much."

Davy was intrigued and just thrilled that someone was talking to him. "Oh?"

"I'm just going to come out and say it. I miss you. Things aren't the same without you. As much as we all try to pretend it isn't and as much as we avoid talking about it, that hole is still there."

Davy was floored. He had not expected to even talk to one of his bandmates let alone hear that his absence was noticeable.

"I think we need you back. And I know that you are doing your own thing now and you are doing well for yourself. But don't you miss it too? Us?"

Davy didn't know how to respond. Keep up a charade or come clean? Which one would be better for him? He had no idea so he didn't say anything.

"Right, I get it. Think about it. I would say the ball is in your court now. I can't speak for everyone but I would sure be open to having you back. You know me I'd rather love than fight."

All Davy could muster was a nod.

"Good seeing you, David," Peter patted Davy's shoulder and walked back into the banquet room.

This was an unexpected turn of events. One that required another sleepless night like that one last year. Davy drug himself out the door. If he was going to have a sleepless thinking night, he'd better get started.

* * *

Davy knocked on that familiar door with the large window peephole that he still couldn't reach. All night he had contemplated the options of what would be better for him; to keep his pride and stay lonely or to sacrifice that pride for happiness. And since he was knocking on that beach house door apparently the latter choice won out.

 _"_ This is crazy, this is crazy," he kept repeating as he bounced around with nerves.

Thankfully, Peter was the one to answer the door. The blond bassist had a broad smile on his face as he gestured for Davy to enter. Davy took in the sight of the familiar living space. Not much had changed give or take some items that had not been there before as well as a red headed man reading a newspaper in the hammock.

Peter must have noticed the look of confusion on Davy's face. "That's Glen," he whispered, "he moved in after you left."

Davy nodded in understanding.

"I'll be right back, have a seat."

Peter ascended the staircase. Davy took another look around at the Pad and had a swarm of memories flood back to him. As nervous as he was, there was something deep down that told him this was right. It felt like home. He glanced over at Glen who had not even seemed to notice anything was happening outside of that newspaper. Davy wondered what kind of relationship the guys had developed with him. Was it going to be difficult to choose between taking Davy back and letting Glen stay? Or was that not even an option because Mike would not be forgiving. He sighed and sat at the familiar table next to another blast from the past, Mr. Schneider.

"What do you think, Schneider? Will they take me back?"

He pulled the string and the dummy replied, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

"You're losing your touch."

Davy heard the ruckus of Micky stumbling down the stairs in a fit of excitement. He was muttering the word surprise almost incoherently. Apparently, Peter had lured his bandmates downstairs with the promise of a surprise. And boy did the look on Mike's face illustrate the sentiment; his eyes widened as he absently navigated his way down the stairs with Peter hovering close behind. When Mike reached the bottom Micky hopped up and down asking what the surprise was. In Micky's excitement he hadn't even realized that Davy was there.

Davy stood from his seat and approached his three former bandmates/roommates/best friends. His hands were shaking and sweating. Though through the nerves he knew exactly what he wanted to say, no emotions were going to overtake this opportunity. When he reached the three, he relaxed his tense shoulders and motioned for them to come join him at the table.

"Davy?" Micky asked suddenly realizing what was going on. He sprung forward and embraced the smaller man in a bear hug.

Davy was stunned at the reaction and gained his wits back to hug Micky too. He was beginning to get misty eyed, but didn't want anyone to know. When the two parted everyone made their way to the table with Davy hanging back to wipe his eyes. He saw the Micky was bouncing around excitedly, Peter was beaming from Micky's response, and Mike sat stone faced.

Davy took a deep breath as he sat down and began the speech he had been practicing in his head all morning. "Last night when I saw you guys I couldn't help but think how'd we end up this way? Then I reviewed the memories in my mind and it boiled down to being miscommunication and emotional outbursts. That twist of fate that I didn't end up coming home until very late that particular day led to this huge fallout. I felt so alone last night and couldn't help but wonder if any of you felt that too. The sting of what was and could be. I always thought we would make it. That people would be telling the story of us coming together being this famous group and living happily ever after. But this story is looking like a disaster now. I want to move onto the next chapter, because I'm scared of this story ending. I want to reconcile."

Peter looked as though he was being moved to tears with the words. Micky sat attentively which was the opposite of his usual demeanor. Mike still had no expression. Davy couldn't tell if he was still angry from all that time ago or if he was unsure how to act. He felt like Mike had a wall up that he couldn't break through. Why was he pretending that this was nothing? There was that loud silence again.

Mike finally spoke up. "You're the one that chose to leave, instead of facing your problems head on like a man. I lost respect for you in that moment. And last night all I saw was someone who was indifferent. I felt like I was in a competition with you of who could act like they cared less. You don't even know what things were like here after you left."

Davy couldn't argue with that logic. There were so many things that he wished he knew. So much that he wished he could take back and do differently. But he couldn't do that. He had to accept the past mistakes and work towards making a change moving forward. That's all he could offer.

"I agree Mike, I don't know. Also, you don't know what things were like for me. Last night, I wasn't indifferent. I was struggling to find my place in that crowded room. I always knew my place before was a spot next to you guys and I felt like I had to search for my right place yesterday, which appeared to be nowhere at all."

Peter and Micky were both intently listening to the conversation and not making any commentary. Davy figured that the two of them knew that this discord was between Davy and Mike. It seemed that the other two were already on board; all he had to do was to convince the harshest critic.

"So Mike, the battle is in your hands now and I will gladly lay my armor down and wave that white flag of surrender. I want to be part of this again. This is the only place I really have felt like I belonged."

Mike's demeanor seemed to soften a bit. He was mulling things over in his mind and took a few minutes before he spoke again. "I have been wrestling with the guilt of making you leave for a year… Knowing that I didn't cause that is chipping away at that guilt and therefore the anger that has been overshadowing it. Hearing you make amends and admit to wanting and needing this again is all I need. I said things that day that were inexcusable…. You are not replaceable. We need you too."

Davy was moved by Mike's words. This was really happening. He was back home where he belonged. All four stood up as if on cue and embraced.

"How soon can you move back in?" Micky asked eagerly.

Davy looked over at the hammock, "What about him?"

"Yeah what about him?" Glen asked suddenly jolted out of his stupor.

"Ugh, Glen!" Micky complained. "This hasn't been working out and you know it. You are quiet and keep to yourself. It drives me completely and utterly mad!"

"It was in the advertisement for a roommate. I mean, literally. You wrote, 'must be completely and utterly mad'," Glen countered.

"It was more that you had to be up for crazy schemes, which you clearly are not."

"Okay, I'll pack up my stuff and get moving."

"You're so agreeable. I hate it!" Micky screamed as Glen began gathering his things.

"I see the saga continues," Peter said bringing them back to focus.

"I can't wait to see where this adventure leads us," Davy commented as a sense of fulfillment enveloped him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Mike:**

Mike barged into the Pad with Micky trailing behind him. Mike had been walking so fast that Micky could barely keep up the pace. Once inside, Micky slumped over with his hands on his knees clearly out of breath. Mike on the other hand was still going; pacing back and forth across the floor. He was heated. Mike could feel the anger burning his cheeks and he wanted to punch a hole through the wall.

"Who does that guy think he is?" Mike shouted.

Mike and Micky were returning from a meeting with music producer Don Kirshner. They had been having more substantial success over the past year and a half. That was in part due to Don getting them more steady work playing in bigger venues. They had done well as a trio in Davy's absence and now that he had returned six months ago things were going even better as a quartet. Not only did they have the fan base of music lovers, now they had the girls swooning over the adorable front man. Things could not have been going more smoothly.

With the continued and increasing success that they were experiencing, Don Kirshner had suggested that the band record a second album. Micky and Mike and gone to speak with him over the details, and that's when things went south. Don stated that even though he appreciated the songs and instrumentals done by the band, he believed that they would sound even better with the help of top songwriters and the aid of some studio musicians and back-up singers to give the music less of a "garage rock sound." Mike did not take that statement well and tried his hardest to keep his emotions in check while discussing the importance of keeping the music pure. He was offended by the insinuation that The Monkees could not do well on their own. The more Don pushed in the opposite direction, the more aggravated Mike was becoming. He could feel the steam radiating off his skin and the tension in his body with the undeniable urge to hit something. Knowing Mike, Micky noticed this right away and attempted to smooth things over and suggested that things be discussed at another time when Peter and Davy were also present.

Kirshner gave them an ultimatum, "Let me know tomorrow if you're willing to do things my way, or consider yourself dropped."

Mike abruptly stood up and basically told Kirshner to go to hell. This did not sit well with the music producer who rescinded the offer and told them he was dropping The Monkees as clients. Micky shoved Mike out the door before any more damage could be done. And he had been chasing Mike back to the Pad ever since.

"Mike, he's a famous producer, I think he somewhat knows what he's talking about."

"He's trying to make us his own image instead of letting us be who we are."

"I think he's trying to make us more profitable, so that we can keep moving up and improving."

"Honestly, this is beneath me creatively."

"We'd be making sacrifices to our music. Creatively it's beneath all of us. But now that's not even an option for us. You've royally screwed us out of being anything at all."

Mike stopped pacing and looked at Micky in stunned silence. This was partially due to Micky's willingness to sacrifice himself artistically and that Micky was actually speaking to Mike this way. Micky wasn't one to step on anyone's' toes unless he felt like he was being threatened in some way. This new development added guilt and shame to the anger that Mike was already experiencing. He headed up the stairs before he said anymore things he regretted today.

"Where are you going?" Micky called after him. "You'll have to break this news to Davy and Peter when they come home because I sure as hell am not cleaning up this mess for you!"

Mike slammed the door since Micky's comments were only adding fuel to his fire. He went ahead and punched the plaster wall in his room. Not the best idea because he immediately heard a crack and had pain shooting through his hand. He could deal with this pain for now. There was no way that he was going to admit that he had foolishly injured his hand just like he had injured their opportunity to keep moving forward musically. If Mike was being honest with himself, the anger that he was blaming on Kirshner and Micky was masking over something else. Not only was it the guilt and shame but also a feeling of hurt that this music producer didn't think the band had what it took to become prosperous on their own. It was a nagging pain like the dull throb in his hand. It hurt his pride more than anything that he wasn't good enough to sell records without help. It made him feel like he was failing the other guys.

And now he had definitely failed them by losing the only steady work that they had ever had. Other bands would have killed for a chance to make it no matter the cost. Maybe Mike was too proud. Maybe he should swallow that pride and march right back to Kirshner and try to come to some sort of agreement. That wouldn't work, Mike was positive that he burned that bridge now, plus no matter how much he wanted to be a famous musician he was not willing to sacrifice artistic integrity. Music was his number one love and nothing was going to get in the way of that.

He heard the front door open and the happy-go-lucky, unsuspecting voices of his bandmates. He sighed and looked at his swollen hand. Time to face the music.

* * *

Peter and Davy had taken the news better than Mike had expected, although there wasn't much of a reaction that Mike was expecting. Peter was a passive person and not likely to let anyone know his true feelings. Mike was positive that Peter would go into his room later that night and have a good cry about it. Davy had a temper on him, but Mike knew that Davy wasn't as invested in music as the rest of them were. Davy had stage acting to fall back on if he needed to and he was more interested in maintaining his relationship with his friends than worrying about what occupation they were pursuing.

Micky on the other hand was still livid. He was eying Mike like a hawk with a disapproving gaze. He had right away noticed Mike's swollen hand.

"How are we even supposed to do anything now to even beg for playing gigs when you aren't even able to make a fist? You can't possibly play with your hand like that. I bet it's broken."

Mike couldn't even speak anymore. Emotionally he was drained from everything today. He had no energy to argue with Micky or apologize to anyone. He just wanted to be alone and in silence. Without uttering a word he grabbed the keys to the Monkeemobile and went to drive himself to get his hand checked out. He was sure that everyone would be talking about his behavior after he left and honestly he didn't care. Now all the emotions flooded out of him and he was cloaked in numbness. Nothing mattered anymore.

* * *

Mike's hand was definitely broken and he was told that it would take three weeks to heal. Thankfully, he didn't require surgery. This meant though that he was out of playing commission for the time being and frankly he still didn't care. For someone that was concerned with music and artistic integrity just a short time ago was now indifferent to the thought of ever playing another gig as a Monkee.

He slunk back into the Pad with his hand in a splint. He was hoping that no one would be around so that he could continue being alone. Of course, though there was Micky still looking like he was raring to go another round. Though Mike didn't have the energy to communicate right now, he had to say something so that Micky wouldn't start in on him.

"Look Mick, it's been a long day. I just need to be alone and not discuss this any further. What's done is done and I'm not sure what I can do yet to make a difference. I can't even think right now."

"You know I've really kept my mouth shut over the years about you," Micky got up from the table so that he could be toe to toe with Mike. "You think you have all the answers and know what's best for everyone. So you make all the decisions around here, no matter what anyone else thinks or if it is detrimental to our livelihood."

Mike didn't say anything and his lack of any type of response seemed to rile Micky up even more.

"You don't care about anyone but yourself, Nesmith. I've stood back and let you run things around here, but not anymore. We are all in this together and this will be an equal partnership moving forward. While you're out of commission with your hand you're also out of commission with deciding what to do. So tomorrow the rest of us are going to try to do damage control with Kirshner and you're not invited."

With that Micky turned on his heel and headed for Peter and Davy's room. Mike imagined that he didn't want to share a room with Mike at the moment which was fine by him. Surprisingly, Mike noticed that there was no emotional reaction welling up to Micky's words. Perhaps he had worn himself down today and the feelings would return again tomorrow. Mike prayed that they didn't.

* * *

Unfortunately, the British charm, the begging, and the crying trio that visited Don Kirshner could not undo the damage that Mike had done. He was not willing to negotiate any type of new deal with them. He had already moved on to another new group as his protégés. The band had come home with their tails between their legs and started looking for openings at their old playing haunts. Mike didn't feel the least bit guilty, shameful, or remorseful anymore. That stinging numbness was all that remained and Mike was starting to grow fond of a lack of emotions. The meant he didn't have to take care of everyone else or worry about gigs/money. He was free to be detached in his own world.

The next three weeks while Mike's hand healed played out the same. The guys looked for work or stayed home and complained that there wasn't any work. They couldn't audition for anything or take jobs that were sooner than Mike was healed which limited what could be done in the meantime. It was interesting to Mike that no one paid much attention before to the availability of jobs, but now that he was no longer doing that for them everyone was concerned.

Mike had to admit that during his off time, he didn't even miss playing or writing or even thinking about music and band culture. It was freeing in a sense. An existence that was opening up thoughts of doubt about this whole rock star thing.

Mike had wanted to play guitar in a band for as long as he could remember. Growing up in Texas, he had seen his fair share of country musicians playing at restaurants, fairs, and shows of any kind. He liked the sound of the guitar and the cool things that people could do with them. As far as he was concerned the guitar was the heart and soul of a song it set the melody and could match the lyrics perfectly. He got his first guitar at age nine and this was the first time he had put it down for an extended period time since then. It was his passion and love before anything else. Now with this newfound indifference towards his hiatus, Mike was wondering if this was really his what he was meant to do.

He mostly had been spending his free time lounging around the house much to the chagrin of the grudge holding Micky.

"You can't just sit around all the time," Micky complained.

"I've been doing it for the past few weeks already. Never underestimate my ability to be inoperative."

"I think you would feel more like yourself if we worked on some new material together," Peter offered. "You could hum bars for me and I could notate them or we could all brainstorm some lyrics. What do you say?"

"Thanks for offering, Pete, but I think I'll stick to my convalescence."

Mike was also tiring of his bandmates trying to 'help' him or even just being around in general. There was once a time when he would do anything for those guys and go to the ends of the Earth to make sure they were protected. Now, he didn't pay attention to anything about them. He even felt like he hadn't actually seen Davy in the three weeks he was recuperating. All of this indifference was adding to the doubts in his mind. Things were not right anymore. Nothing was anything anymore.

* * *

Mike woke up impassively as he had for the past three weeks. Today was the day the splint would be coming off and he would be able to play again. It was a big day alright, but it had nothing to do with playing music. Mike had been contemplating a drastic change recently and last night he had made up his mind. He had been straddling that fork in the road for some time. This was the reveal of his plans and a fresh start. Maybe this would kick the emotion and passion back into him that he once had.

Mike made his way down the stairs. He had been getting up later and later every day since he no longer had the urgency to complete tasks and get started with the day. He noticed that his bandmate were already awake and huddled around the bandstand. Mike honestly was not interested in what they were doing. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of black coffee. It was bitter and burned on the way down, just like many things Mike had been experiencing lately.

Peter acknowledged Mike and beckoned him over to the bandstand. Mike begrudgingly walked over towards his friends.

"Surprise!" they shouted revealing Mike's guitar cleaned up and restrung with new picks laid out.

"We know that you haven't been yourself lately since you haven't been able to play," Davy explained. "So we thought that you would appreciate a fresh start for the reunion."

Mike looked at the satisfied looks of his friends' faces and at the work they had done to make this day special for him. However, he had no feelings about it; the nagging numbness was all that prevailed. It was going to be more difficult now to have that discussion with them.

"Thanks you guys, you obviously put a lot of time into this," he began. "I know I haven't been myself lately and I have to be honest it isn't because I wasn't able to play my guitar."

Everyone looked on in confusion at the statement and the wondering of what was coming next. It was clear that Mike had something to say and everyone waited with baited breath.

"The reason I haven't been myself is that nothing here feels right anymore. I have no desire to play guitar as a Monkee anymore. Truthfully, I don't have interest in being a Monkee anymore."

Jaws dropped and eyes were looking on hopefully waiting for Mike to reveal this as some kind of twisted joke.

"I really have been on edge with even being around people lately. I want to be alone. I have decided that I will be moving on with my life and going to find a new identity somewhere else. I'm going to move to Nashville. This is a cruel town and the spirit of a new more inviting town with greener pastures maybe just what I need. I need to regain my spirit because this life and the things I've tried to be have made a wreck out of me. So I've decided that by sundown today I'll be on my way."

No one spoke for some time after these words were uttered. Mike surveyed the room for indications of the guys' initial reactions to the news. Peter was of course misty eyed. Micky had that ever present scowl at Mike that was the norm nowadays. Davy needed to pick his jaw up off the floor. Mike waited another few minutes for someone to say something before he turned to walk back up the stairs to start packing.

"Wait," a small voice made Mike turn back around. "Listen Mike, I've recently left the group to run away from dealing with my problems. It didn't solve anything; it just made things worse for me. Don't make that same mistake and lose precious time you have. Things may be tough now, but we will make it through. We always do."

Mike studied Davy's face and voice. There was pain behind it and Mike guessed that it was from a combination of pain from the news and thinking about his recent departure from the group. It was great that Davy was trying to help Mike see the light again and for a moment he thought he felt a tinge of emotion but that fizzled out almost before it even started.

"Thanks Davy, I appreciate what you're trying to do. But I've thought about this for the whole three weeks and I've made up my mind. This is what I have to do."

"What are you going to do though?" Peter blubbered.

"I'm not quite sure. Get back fully into my country roots. Find my passion for music again. Decide to go on a completely different career path. All I do know is that I can't keep doing what we're doing here."

Micky's face softened the most that it had in three weeks. "Mike, I know you and I have had our differences lately. I can't let you go though. This is where you belong and I don't think you need a new life experience to know that. I think you just need to get back into the rhythm of things again."

"Again, I appreciate the sentiment. My mind is made up though. I'm going to pack so that I can catch a bus later."

Mike walked up the stairs for a final time to pack up his California life. He didn't feel sadness or regret, just nothing. If he didn't feel anything then this must be the right choice. Several hours later he was saying his final goodbyes to people that almost felt like strangers now. They appeared to be really torn up about him leaving and it wasn't pleasant seeing them heartbroken like that but he had to do what he had to do. So he boarded that bus to go to a new place. Where things don't start just to end.

* * *

 _Three years later…_

Mike drummed his hands on his legs anxiously in the taxi on his way to 1334 North Beechwood. It was the first time he had been back this way since he departed and seeing the familiar layout even if things were a bit different was invigorating.

When Mike moved to Nashville, he felt reborn. He still experienced numbness for quite some time but he was slowly gaining back his desire to work on music. He took on a job as a receptionist at a recording studio, where they let him dabble with the recording equipment on slow days. During that time, he met three other up and coming musicians that were trying to make a splash in the recording industry. Mike joined forces with them and created the First National Band.

Their time together was short-lived. Mike was glad to be making music again, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about this experience. The chemistry of the band was not the same. There was no peace-loving hippie bassist. No crazy vocal powerhouse on the drums. No goo goo eyed tambourine player. It was just bland and strictly business. That's what Mike thought he had wanted. That kept him out in Nashville for the past three years, the bland predictability of life.

One morning while drinking his coffee, he was thinking about the day's events. Nothing out of the ordinary on the horizon, the usual just as it would be tomorrow. A pang of boredom struck him and then the realization felt oddly familiar. He began to hum and then find words to the scenario:

 _I feel the moments hurry on, it was today it's died away and now it is forever gone…_

Things were mundane. It was reminding him of _Early Morning Blues and Greens_. Suddenly, a rush on emotions consumed him. All the sadness, guilt, remorse that had eluded him three years earlier came rushing back. He began pouring through his mental shelf and dusted off old memories of his bandmates. He missed Micky, Davy, and Peter. I struck him like a ton of bricks and hurt like hell.

He abandoned the coffee and made a split decision to pack.

Now here he was standing in front of the recognizable beach house. He hadn't spoken the guys since he left and he was hoping for a warm welcome. He had to admit that he was quite nervous. He went to knock on the door and it was slightly ajar and just opened. Mike glanced around the common area of the home to find that it was deserted. There was no furniture and very few trinkets left behind, save some posters on the wall and Mike's gavel on an abandoned table. From the looks it, this place hadn't been occupied in quite some time at least a year.

Mike started making his way around the house trying to believe that even though it was empty there would be some miracle of the guys all huddled in a bedroom. He opened the door to Davy and Peter's room and only found discarded bed frames. Mike climbed the spiral staircase and found his and Micky's former bedroom only scattered with remnants of Micky brilliant ideas past. He descended the stairs and sat in a lonely chair in the middle of the room and placed his head in his hands.

Mike knew it was a longshot that the band would still be there living the carefree life. He was curious as to what had happened to them and sad that he had no idea where to reach them. He began sobbing heavily in the empty space that was oddly reminiscent of the way he felt internally the last time he was living here.

As Mike kept his head down, he noticed a discarded envelope on the floor covered in dust. Curious he picked it up and realized that it was labelled _Mike Nesmith._ He opened it up and read the letter inside:

 _Dear Michael,_

 _I don't know if you'll ever read this or ever return to the Pad. We have been evicted today; Mr. Babbitt finally lost any sense of compassion that he may have been harboring for us. We were unable to secure any work musically after you left and the odd jobs we tried to hold onto just weren't cutting it. So this is where we all finally part ways for good. Davy is going back to England to be a jockey. Micky will be deciding what direction to take after he moves back in with his parents. As for me, I guess its back to folk singing in The Village until my life can find its purpose. I wish things could have worked out differently. We could have been something great. I hope you found everything you were looking for._

 _Love,_

 _Peter_

Mike's eyes were welling up with tears. He had been years too late. He missed it. There were no more opportunities to be The Monkees. Everyone had quit at one time and come back when they realized what they had lost. Mike realized his too late. There was no going back. Davy tried to warn him that day, but he was too stubborn to listen. Mike walked over to the guitar case that he had brought with him and opened it up. He took out his guitar and began tuning it on his way up to the band stand. He began to play a familiar tune even though he changed the words to fit the situation.

 _I've known for a long time_

 _The kind of guys you are._

 _Of a smile that covers teardrops,_

 _The way your head yields to you heart._

 _Of things you've kept inside_

 _That most people couldn't bear._

 _I've known you for a long time,_

 _But I've just begun to care._

 _I've known of all the heartaches,_

 _I've known of all the pain._

 _I've seen you when the sun shines,_

 _And I've seen you when it rains._

 _I've seen you make a look of love_

 _From just an icy stare._

 _I've known you for a long time,_

 _But I've just begun to care._

 _I know I've been blind_

 _To not have loved you all this time,_

 _But the image of you wasn't clear._

 _I guess I'd been standing too near._

 _Oh, it's taken me a while,_

 _But I have finally found_

 _What you are to me;_

 _And that's what really counts._

 _And what you are to me_

 _Is something we can share._

 _I've known you for a long time,_

 _But I've just begun to care._

 _Oh, it's taken me a while,_

 _But I have finally found_

 _What you are to me;_

 _And that's what really counts._

 _And what you are to me_

 _Is something we can share._

 _I've known you for a long time,_

 _But I've just begun to care._

Memories flashed through his mind as he sang and played with more emotion than he had ever put into a song before. It's amazing how time can so softly change your ways and make you look at things that can't be seen. How the years that roll by can start you listening not just by what they say, but what they mean.

When he was finished he looked around before packing in guitar and heading for the door. He turned around in the doorway to take one last look.

"There used to be four of us. Now, I'm alone."


End file.
